Give My Regards to Bollywood
by Slinky-and-the-BloodyWands
Summary: The Winchesters run into deadly spirit trouble, Bollywood style. Why would a ghost be sharing dance numbers from the movie Om Shanti Om with her dormitory? And what does an apparent suicide have to do with reincarnation?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer for Entire Story: I do not own **_**Supernatural**_**. I also don't own any Bollywood film referenced in this story (mainly **_**Om Shanti Om, **_**which references those films in turn). **

**Setting: Not really important. I'm thinking early season five, but I'm not giving any spoilers away. **

**A/N: This isn't quite a crossover because you don't have to be familiar with Bollywood film or **_**Om Shanti Om **_**to understand the story. It helps though. This is actually going to be a rather short story (only about 5 or 6 chapters long), so I should have it finished soon enough. However, reviews always help me get the job done, so please tell me what you think and feel free to give suggestions. **

**Dedicated: This was written for Kimmi as a very late birthday present. It was for The Guild of the Fantastic Quill's Birthday Challenge. **

_**Give My Regards to Bollywood**_

**Chapter 1: Not a Michael Jackson Video**

Dean knew it wasn't safe to look away from the road while driving, but he couldn't resist the sudden urge to stare intensely at his little brother. He clenched his jaw, pushing down the laugh threatening to escape. He put on his serious face.

"Dancing?" he asked. Again. "Like, _undead_ dancing. "Thriller" style?"

Sam sighed, refusing to meet his eyes. "Yes, Dean. Choreographed dancing. Not "Thriller" style. Nearly the entire dormitory witnessed the… event. But it was definitely supernatural in origin."

Dean turned back to the road. "I knew there had to be a few fruity demons out there, but, really, dancing? As in, Broadway, stage line-up dancing? Doesn't sound like your standard mass-possession."

Sam flipped through his printouts. "Actually, a few of the Indian students staying in the dormitory said the number resembled a dance from an old Bollywood movie called _Humjoli_." Sam paused, fairly certain he'd just slaughtered that title, and frowned. "Also, I don't think this has anything to do with a demon."

"Oh, come on, Sammy. No spirit is that talented." Dean looked puzzled, nevertheless. "And what the hell is Bollywood again?"

Sam smirked. "Remember that time when we were teens and staying at that motel outside Chicago? You thought we were getting the pay-per-view channels because you saw a bunch of half-dressed Indian women in what appeared to be a harem." He paused for effect at Dean's dreamy expression. "Then they broke into song and dance with hairy-chested pirates wearing pink and lime green--that was the Bollywood channel."

The oldest Winchester snorted. "Worst porno ever."

"Anyhow," Sam trailed. He went back to his notes. "Looks like the event can be traced back to six days ago when Amy Murphy was found dead in the dorm's staircase, her neck broken. By the next morning, there were reports of strange music coming from the staircase, flickering lights, figures in the windows, cold spots--you know, the usual. Since then, there have also been two more deaths in the dormitory--both girls were reportedly friends of Amy's. And the musical encounters seem to be getting more intense after each murder."

"Ghost then. So, the question is, is Amy playing the foreign films from the beyond? Or is it whatever did her in who's picking off the college chicks?"

"Exactly." Sam stared at the car's radio as "Highway to Hell" began to play. Again. There was only so many times he could take that song. He turned it down, stopping Dean from snapping by continuing to speak. "But this isn't an ordinary haunting, Dean. I mean, how many ghosts have we met with the ability to manipulate and appear to that many people?"

The Impala rolled into a motel parking lot, slowing to a stop in front of the check-in office.

Dean raised a brow. "Have we been here before?"

"Not in this motel--last time we were in Florence we stayed outside of town. Probably not a good idea to mingle in the same locations." Sam took in his puzzled expression. "This is where we hunted the leprechaun. And the fairies who, you know, were so, umm, _friendly_."

A light bulb went off in Dean's head, and he bit his cheek to keep the happy grin off his face. He shook his head. "Some crazy crap happens in Alabama."

"Yeah, who knew?"

* * *

Dean smiled at the tall, athletic blond holding open the door for him.

"Thanks," he said, his eyes unable to stop roaming the extremely short exercise shorts and tank top she was sporting. Sure, it was a cold day. But that's where sacrifice came in. And, boy, was he proud of that sacrifice. "So, you like the dorm, then? I'm thinking of moving in next semester. Mind giving me a tour?"

"Gern geschehen," she chirped, her blue eyes twinkling in his direction as she hopped on the elevator.

It occurred to him that she probably didn't understand a word coming out of his mouth, but that didn't stop Dean from almost following her into the cramped compartment. A knocking on the glass door at his side stopped him. He turned to see Sam standing out in the chilling winter rain, shooting his brother a furious look. Dean pushed open the door.

"How'd you get in?" Sam asked, his eyes accusing Dean of some unknown treachery.

Sam squeezed out his jacket's sleeve, wetting the foyer's carpet.

"Cute German chick," Dean answered. He quickly pressed the elevator's up arrow. "What?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean, the staircase. You know, where the haunting began? We should probably check it out. For that matter, we should probably sign in as guests."

"Fi--"

Dean cut himself off, staring past the elevator door as it slid open. Sam's eyes followed his brother's. Instead of opening to the graffiti latent walls of the closet-sided compartment, the door had opened to a darkened, crowded theater.

"Well, that's new," Dean commented.

Sam quickly stepped past his brother into the theater. Dean groaned, as if wishing he'd stopped him, and jumping into the "elevator" just as the door closed. The light from the dorm disappeared completely, and the scene remained the same. The men walked down the main aisle of the theater, staring at the audience engrossed in the film that was playing.

Noting the faces of the audience, Dean elbowed his brother and pointed to the screen. "Think this is Bollywood related, too?" he asked.

Sam nodded, his mouth agape at the gorgeous, orange-clad woman dancing on the big screen before lines of background dancers. The colors of the film were bright, engrossing, even though the image itself seemed somewhat blurry. He seemed to shake himself from her spell and took a step back towards Dean.

"Yeah, but in what decade?" Sam hissed.

"Not exactly HD," Dean agreed. He turned a full circle, taking in the seemingly unaware audience once more. "And there's a whole lot of polyester goin' on. I don't know how India spent the seventies, but I sure as hell know this isn't how they dress now."

"But what does all of this have to do with the girls who were killed?" Sam asked.

He blinked and found himself inside the elevator, staring at blacked out cuss words in a variety of sharpie colors. Dean looked just as surprised at his surroundings.

"That was weird, right?"

Dean nodded. "If I didn't know better, I'd say this was a Trickster thing."

Sam shook his head. "The MO isn't right. Where's the trick? And judging by what their friends said about them, the three girls who were killed weren't very popular or prideful. It just doesn't fit."

"Should we stick around for the second act or cut to the salt and burn?" Dean asked.

Sam shook his head. "We need to figure this out first. Something isn't right about this haunting."

"Third vic's roommate, then?" At his brother's nod, Dean frowned. "Think she'll know more than the coroner's report? Who am I kidding--kids cramped into cubicles this small, of course she'll know more."

"Like what really happened to Amy Murphy," Sam agreed.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews and the Story Alert adds! By the way, if you're wondering about my mention of leprechauns and fairies in the first chapter, that wasn't in an actual episode, it was a reference to one of my other Supernatural stories "Of Wee Folk and Shotguns." **

_**Give My Regards to Bollywood**_

**Chapter 2: Mickey Mouse Conspiracy **

Dean raised a suggestive eyebrow at the group of Japanese girls waiting for him to exit the elevator and hid his smirk at the coy giggling behind him. He nudged his brother as soon as the elevator was out of earshot.

"The tall one was checkin' you out, dude," he muttered with a doggish grin.

Sam blinked, looking pained. "That was a dude, dude."

"Seriously?" Dean looked crestfallen. "I don't really dig this college scene," he replied.

"Noted."

The brothers stepped down the hallway to the right, avoiding the open RA's room, and watching the numbers on the doors. They definitely didn't want to explain their unescorted status on the girls' side of the building.

"What about Amy's dorm room?"

Sam released a sigh. "Next floor up. Apparently she and the second victim were roommates."

"Does the dorm building have a history?" Dean followed.

"Not really." Sam paused, shaking his head. "Actually, other than some petty theft and a domestic disturbance or two, it's completely clean. The campus has had some reported hauntings, but there's no evidence that those old urban legends are true."

"So, a fairly peaceful campus. Three deaths happen within a week and no one thinks this stinks of weird ass?"

Sam shrugged. "Florence is pretty small but the press seems to be staying away from the story for some reason. They're calling the first two deaths, the fall down the stairs and the slip in the shower, accidental."

"And the third?"

"Sorta hard to call someone folding themselves into the communal oven accidental."

He raised his hand to stop his older brother's inevitable question. Further down the hall, a girl layered to the melting point in thick sweaters was fumbling with her keys. She swore when she dropped her purse to the floor. Sam sped up and bent down to help her with the load.

"Thanks," she spat. After she looked up, her frown disappeared. She grinned brightly. "Well, hi there," she smoothly added, taking in the two men. "You lost, sugar?"

Dean blinked away the "sugar" comment. Sam stepped on his toe in warning.

"Actually," Sam said, glancing the room's number, "I think we're exactly where we need to be. We work with the local paper, and we were hoping to interview a student about the recent deaths in the dorm."

"How'd you get in here?" she asked. She stopped herself, rolling her eyes. "Never mind--I forget that they'll just let _anyone _in if he's got a pretty smile. So, how are you spinning it?"

Dean filed her contempt away for later. "Spinning what?"

"The story, duh?" the girl sputtered. "Unless. . .Oh, well I suppose you might not know yet."

"Know what?" Sam asked.

She leaned to one side, hearing voices down the hallway. "Maybe we should take this inside before the Powers-That-Be slap a sixty dollar fine on my tab for not signing in my 'guests' again."

* * *

Dean thought it was a little weird to be sitting on a dead girl's stripped bed. Of course, weird was on his daily agenda, so he took it in stride. Sam, the long legged mastermind that he was, had stolen the only other free chair. Still, it was a dead girl's chair, so the situation was fairly lose-lose.

Katty, as the roommate had introduced herself, was occupied in peeling off her three layers of long sleeves. She tossed the coat on top of the overloaded luggage taking up her own bed.

"You moving out?" Dean asked, spotting the box on her desk.

He pulled a small notebook from his back pocket, pretending to take interview notes over the written out exorcism he'd jotted down once upon a time.

"Yeah," she sighed, her curly red ponytail bobbing behind her head. "Got to, really. Moving into a friend's place downtown."

"I suppose losing a roommate has got to be a traumatic experience." Sam was slipping on his 'comforting' face with ease. "I don't think anyone would blame you for leaving this place behind."

Katty snorted.

"Please--I mean I didn't wish her dead or anything, but Val was a total spaz. And without her, I get upgraded to a single without the extra fees." She took off her hoodie and pointed emphatically at the rounded belly protruding from her otherwise rail-thin frame. "This little bundle of _joy_ is the real reason I'm leaving. Snooty little RA be-otch is calling a meeting with her council of nerds about 'morality' issues or whatever. Anyhow, I'm moving before she has a chance to keep my down payment."

Sam chose to ignore her coldness. And her use of the word "be-otch".

"You said something about a 'spin' for our story?"

Katty slowly took a seat at her desk chair, pursing her lips as if she were rethinking the situation. "Ok, well, I like hate to be total gossip, but, whatever. . . I mean, it's for a good cause, right? And my name will totally be on the interview--and maybe a picture? Chest up, of course."

"Of course," Dean smirked. He mentally kicked himself.

The girl stared at her door a moment before leaning forward. "Ok, well, I know there's all this stuff going around about a supposed haunting, but that's all BS."

Sam raised a brow. "It is?"

"Yeah, I mean, sure the lights flicker or whatever. And there's no such thing hot water in this building. And there's that Indian disco going on downstairs--I'd totally put my money on the exchange students there." Katty took a breath. "But none of it's real. _They _want you to think it is. My theory is that the family started spreading the ghost rumors. After all, they're the ones covering it up."

Sam chose to ignore the bored expression on his brother's face. "Whose parents? And what are they covering up?"

Katty bit her lip, trying to work up the suspense. "Amy's, duh!" She smiled wickedly. "Her parents are uber religious--her grandpas on both sides of the family are preachers--so it only makes sense that they're the ones doing it, right?"

Dean's smart ass genes were kicking in. "Well, _it only makes sense_."

Ignorant of the sarcasm in his voice, Katty seemed to enjoy the agreement and nodded furiously. "See, if it got out that their little girl killed herself, they'd probably be totally shunned by their Church."

"Suicide?" Dean asked. He blinked. "She threw herself down a staircase?"

The girl groan. "OMG!" she snapped.

Dean flinched.

"You're totally missing the point!" Katty continued. "Listen, I know some of the students who found her body that morning. They saw blood, but it wasn't coming from her head, it was coming from her wrist."

Dean shot his brother a concerned look. Ghosts were always bad, but a ghost from a suicide? Talk about a big case of denial. Those hunts usually ended messy.

"Her wrist was sliced open," Katty balked. "She probably wanted a view out the windows while she was doing the deed and passed out and fell down the stairs. I mean, it all makes perfect sense."

"That's an interesting theory," Sam said. He cocked his head. "But I don't quite understand how the other two girls fit in."

Katty rolled her eyes. Dean assured himself that if she rolled her eyes one more time, he was going to have to slip a _Cristo_ into the conversation just to be on the safe side.

"Val was totally friends with Amy--I mean they were working on a class project together and everything. I'm guessing she. . ." Katty lowered her voice, her eyes at a squint. "I'm guessing she got too close to the truth."

"And, Amy's parents killed her?" Sam asked, trying to hide his doubt. "What about the second girl, Amy's roommate?"

"Lisa?" Katty sneered. "Ugg, so into herself. I saw her try out for color guard. What a total klutz! She probably really did bash her head in the shower." Katty jumped up. "Oh shit--I forgot it was Thursday. I've got a class to get to!"

Sam and Dean stood automatically, already headed towards the door.

"Thank you for your time, Katty."

"Wait--but you've hardly written any notes!" Katty complained, cutting off their exit. She rolled her eyes.

"_Cristo_," Dean coughed.

No reaction.

"I'm not that late," she whined. "And it's not like the class is important--it's a total Mickey Mouse." At Dean's confused expression, she continued. "You know, a fart class?"

Sam stopped her from continuing. "An easy course," he quickly explained, for Dean's sake. He looked to Katty, forcing a grin. "Nevertheless, we really shouldn't interfere with your class time."

"But it's such a bore!" Katty reluctantly pulled her bag over her shoulder. "I mean, if we couldn't miss as many days as we want, do you really think I'd have let Val talk me into going to class on a Thursday? Of course, I totally wouldn't have signed up anyhow if I'd known all the films were in subtitles."

Sam paused. "Val was in the class with you?"

Katty rolled her eyes. Dean felt himself developing a twitch.

"And her loser buddies," Katty sighed. "But, an easy A is an easy A, right?"

"Her buddies Lisa and Amy?" Sam asked.

Dean stood a bit straighter, catching on.

Katty nodded. "Like I said, they were doing a class project together."

"What class would this be?" Dean asked.

"Foreign Film. Why?"

The Winchesters' eyes widened, and they shared a glance.

"Katty?" Dean asked. "How does your professor feel about sit-ins?"

**End Notes: Does anyone else feel sorry for Val, you know the one who had to live with Katty? Hee, anyhow... Sorry about the lack of Bollywood in this chapter. I hope this wasn't too much dialogue. More haunting excitement to come. **


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Wow, so sorry for the long wait. Honestly, I sort of forgot about this story. I hope I have a reader or two left. I've been working on getting my original fiction stories published (and, yay!, I've had a few bites so far), so I've been distracted from fanfiction. **

**Chapter 3: Karma is a Pair of Harem Pants**

Mickey Mouse course or no, Foreign Film could suck the life out of Dean Winchester faster than a vampire on cheetah blood.

The final black and white sequence, wordless and dramatic, came to a dark close, and the lights flickered on. Sam frowned at the puddle of drool on his sleeve before shaking Dean off his arm. Dean sat up, wiped his smirking mouth, and shot his brother a wide grin.

"Best nap, ever," he muttered. "Gotta hand it to those Italians."

Sam raised a brow, voice hushed. "You missed the sex scene, man."

Dean blinked. "Nudity?"

"Full frontal."

"Liar."

"_Claudia_."

"Shit."

Sam coughed down his laugh, ribbing his brother once more when he realized their conversation was drawing annoyed glances from their fellow "classmates." Victim Three, Val's, chatty roommate, Katty, had opted to sit near the front instead of with her two guests, and was currently whispering snide remarks to the out-of-place sorority girl at her side. Dean automatically leaned back in dread when he saw her shoot him a fake smile. Thankfully, their professor stood, distracting Katty.

Dr. Mallard fit his name. Seriously. His nose was flat and long, his chin missing-in-action, and his lips protruding; together, the features greatly resembled a duck's beak. However, judging from the attentive behavior of the female students, a Darkwing Duck look-alike could get _a lot _of play in Alabama.

"_L'Avventura_, ladies and gentlemen, by famed director Michelangelo Antonioni," the professor said, sounding far too chipper. He clapped his hands together to gather the group's full attention. "Looks like we're all out of time for today. Next class, I want an essay response on the topic of feminism in _L'Avventura. _What does the film have to say about strong female protagonists?"

As soon as the assignment left his mouth, the last few rows were already empty, students piling out the door and into the land of Technicolor.

Waving an eager goodbye to Katty, Sam and Dean remained behind until the room emptied and only the professor remained. Dr. Mallard glanced up, as if just noticing them, and offered a small smile.

"Friends of Katty's?" he asked. The Winchesters paused, not answering, but Dr. Mallard went on. "We don't often get sit-ins. Are you interested in taking the course?"

Dean snorted.

Sam cleared his throat. "Maybe next semester. Actually, we were here because of Amy Murphy."

Dr. Mallard's face darkened. He nodded, as if to himself, biting his wide bottom lip. "Such a shame." His voice was low, at a near whisper. "It's been a hard semester for this class."

"Guess so," Dean noted, giving Sam a glance. "I hear those other girls that died, Lisa and Valerie, were in your class, too."

"Correct." Dr. Mallard looked up, eyes narrow. "The Murphy family sent you here, didn't they?"

"You caught us," Dean replied.

Sam took a heavy breath before playing along. "They just want to know what happened. You understand. She was their only daughter, and if these other girls might have known something. . . Anything that would explain why Amy did that to herself. . ."

"I do understand," Dr. Mallard agreed. "And I wish I could tell them something that would make the pain go away. But there's no simple answer. Lisa, Val, and Amy seemed like nice girls, good students. They jumped at the chance to be in the same group for their semester report."

"Report?"

"An oral report," Dr. Mallard continued. "Most of my students are Freshmen, so I have them practice their speaking skills at least once. The girls were basing theirs around a few of the Hindi films we reviewed in class, specifically a more recent film that references older Bollywood works. It's called _Om Shanti Om_. Amy adored it."

Dean licked his lip. "The report, what was the subject exactly?"

"Reincarnation."

* * *

"Sammy, I think you overplayed this whole 'college is hard' thing," Dean said, eyes sparkling with laughter. They walked out of the building and past a group of bikini clad girls taking part in a fundraising footrace.

"Law school is a little different from film class, Dean."

"Whatever," Dean snorted. "So, what are we thinking here? Some chick thinks her next life's gonna be better than 8 a.m. Calculus, which wouldn't it have to be?, and offs herself?"

"That's a big leap," Sam noted. He shrugged. "But, yeah, that's what I gathered, too. Still, something doesn't seem quite right. I think we should go to the scene of the 'suicide.'"

"Think Amy might show up to _enlighten _us?"

"That's the plan."

* * *

The fire alarm's steady, rhythmic squeal could be heard half-way across the campus, but it was upon seeing the mass of students standing in front of Grange dormitory that the brothers realized the exact source of the sound. The occupants were few, most of the students at work or in class by mid-afternoon, but the sounds of their anger and concern nearly drowned a secondary noise coming from the building's bottom floor. Between each beat of the siren was the sound of music, low, fading. And definitely Bolly in origin.

"It just started," a girl told her R.A., crossing her arms anxiously. "The fire department's not here yet."

The R.A., a man who looked a few years too old to still be living in the dormitories, scratched his scraggly chin, staring at the building. "Where'd it start?"

"Everywhere, on the walls, everywhere. But there wasn't any smoke-someone must have pulled the alarm when they saw the flames-but there wasn't any smoke. Not at all." Her reply was breathy, as if she'd ran a marathon in her escape.

"Dude, this isn't a kitchen accident," Dean hissed, pulling Sam through the crowd. "We need to get in there before we have more than Rent-a-Cop to deal with." He tossed his head in the direction of the campus security officer at the front doorway.

"The back entry," Sam noted. His hand slipped out, swiping an access card from a nearby student as he pushed past. "Let's go."

The glass doors of the back, basement entryway were not secured, and its position on the side of a hill left it a less than optimal place for students to wait out the alarms, so the brothers found themselves strangely alone amid the chaos.

"Nope, not natural," Sam concurred, stunned when he looked up past the doors. "What is this place?"

"It's not a movie theater, that's for damn sure."

Grange Dormitory was no longer a dormitory. Past the doors was a wide, open chamber that looked more like a manor's decorated floor than anything a public-funded university could afford. Flames, stark yellow and orange, danced along the walls, ran up the red curtains, slithered over the balcony. The fire blocked two swirling, ornamented staircases, and at the floor level, flanked by the curving shapes surrounding her, was a woman.

Dean put a hand against the glass. It was oddly cool to the touch, but he seemed not to notice, instead leaning in with wide eyes.

"Open the door, Sammy!" he snapped.

Sam tried the card once, again. Nothing. "I can't!"

Panicked eyes captured Dean's. The woman was beautiful and somewhat familiar. She was darker skinned, the neck of her gown glittering with rich silver details in the flame's glow. With one hand, she reached out, as if to touch the men watching her beyond the doors. The fear dropped from her expression, replaced with a look of longing and regret.

Dean took a quick step back, ready to kick in the doors. Sam grabbed his arms, stopping him from throwing his momentum forward.

"She's not real, Dean," Sam said, holding his brother against his chest. "She's a movie character. Like before. None of this is real!"

The flames roared upward, suddenly exploding in a cloud of fire that moved faster than the brothers. The glass doors blew outward, shattering into minute fragments. The blast threw Sam and Dean down the hillside.

Dean hit the pavement of the drive below with a thud. His fingers scratched at blacktop. "Felt real," the growled.

Sam groaned in reply. And looked up in time to see a car speeding towards them. Dean tackled him, pushing the two of them onto the sidewalk. The car went on, its driver unaware of the near miss.

The Winchesters stood, silent, attempting to catch their breath.

"That was fun," Sam managed.

Dean rolled a kink out of his shoulder, glancing up at the building. He shoved Sam and pointed skyward. "Check it out."

Up the hill, the interior of the bottom floor of the dormitory, without its glassy reflection to hide it from the outside world, was exposed. The fire was gone. Not a wisp of smoke as evidence of its existence. But Dean's hand lifted, pointing further up, a few floors higher. One of the windows had been blacked out, as if by soot. Written in the black grime was a word they could read, even from the distance: KARMA.

"Let me guess," Dean said, "Amy's room?"

"Yeah." Sam brushed glass off his jacket, shaking his head. "But this isn't what I'd define as Karma. Karma isn't a pair of harem pants and a movie sequence."

Dean raised a brow, confused. "Is if you're naughty."

"Dean, you know what I mean. This doesn't fit together. I recognized that actress, the woman in the fire. Dr. Mallard mentioned that Bollywood movie, _Om Shanti Om_. I think I remember seeing the cover art for it once, and I'm pretty sure that woman was its star." Sam rolled his eyes. "You know what this means, right?"

"We have to watch the frickin' movie, don't we?"

"Yup."

**End Notes: Hope you enjoyed. Tell me what you think. I'll try to have the next chapter up soon. **


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thanks for the positive feedback, guys. Oh, and please note, Sam and Dean's reactions to **_**Om Shanti Om **_**in no way reflect my own love of the film. That said, forgive the language in this chapter, hee. **

**Chapter 4: Om Kapoor is a Douche**

"Man, he wasn't that bad," Sam insisted. He unfolded long legs out onto the hotel bed, pushing aside a few of the photocopies spread out around him, his computer balanced on the pillow over his lap. Distracted by the information on the screen, he still muttered, "He was a good performer."

"Sure," Dean agreed, "a real talented douche bag. Don't know why you're defending a man who called himself 'O.K.' and had his shirt blown off. Fan-service, it's the definition of douche."

Sam glanced up to see his brother walking away from the bathroom mirror, drying off his bare chest with an extra towel, wet hair dripping down his neck. Dean slipped on his jeans, plopping down on the opposite bed.

Sam shook his head. "I concur."

Dean snorted, as if the used of the word "concur" was an affront. "Yeah, well, you liked that movie just a little too much for a straight man, Samantha."

Instead of throwing his fist, Sam leaned back onto the head of the bed, scanning the computer again curiously. "I'm not the one who cried during Shanti's death."

"You can kiss my ass," Dean snapped. "I wasn't crying."

"You had to take an intermission."

"Chick was hot. Had needs."

"Sure." Sam smirked. "You used tissue, all right."

"Dick." Dean tossed him the finger before leaning back onto his elbows. "So," he cleared his throat. "Did we actually learn anything from the movie or was that just another two and half hours of my life I'll never get back?"

Sam huffed, shaking his head. "No. Well, maybe." His brow wrinkled. "It doesn't make sense."

Dean frowned. "I dunno. Thought the plot was pretty easy to follow, for a foreign movie and all."

The pillow hit Dean across the face. He chuckled before sitting straight again. "Yeah, yeah, I know. The reincarnation theory. Doesn't mesh with Amy committing suicide."

Sam nodded. "If you wanted to kill yourself to move on to the next life, why wouldn't you, well, move on? Shouldn't these girls be going towards the light instead of fighting it?" He shuffled through the papers at his side. "And something else that doesn't make sense, the message on Amy's window."

"Karma," Dean provided. "The haunting's a vengeance thing, then? Maybe she's trying to tell us she was murdered and that her Bollywood dance numbers are her only way of getting revenge on the bastard."

"Could be interpreted that way. If said bastard isn't a fan of Farrah Khan." Sam looked more interested in something on his computer screen. "While you were in the shower, I called Bobby, and he directed me to this site that compared Karma to one's purity. Now, I didn't see how that tied in at the moment, but then I thought about the Western interpretation of reincarnation versus the Eastern interpretation."

"Dude, just move on to the relevant part," Dean begged.

Sam groaned. "This is relevant, Dean. Western religions often tie reincarnation and past lives to the Devil, associating it with completely different subjects, like demon possession, but, in actuality, reincarnation takes place at the fetus stage."

"So, babies are pure, good karma and whatnot. What's this have to do with Amy?"

"I'm not sure yet, but there was a story on the same site that tied into demons." Sam pulled a face. "Knowing our luck, I thought it might be a good idea to apply it to the current situation. If I'm right, we've got a very big problem."

"Don't leave me in suspense, Sammy. What's the story?"

"During the Dark Ages, there was a story of a maiden being sacrificed to a demon. In some translations, dragon can actually refer to a devil, or demon, in man's form."

Dean nodded. "Possession. Why virgins?"

"The demon was tired of being in his current state, so he decided to he needed a true flesh and blood form. The only way to do this was to be physically reborn."

"Reincarnation." Dean winced. "Damn it. He wants a baby." He cocked his head. "I'm still not getting what this has to do with Amy."

Sam sat his computer aside, throwing his feet over the edge of the bed. "In order to be reborn in such a form, his karma has to balance out. The demon needs to fill himself with purity, the blood of virgins. Baptize himself in it. Absorb their souls."

"Amy, her friends." Dean closed his eyes. "Poor kids never even got laid." When his eyes opened again, they were wide. Panicked. "Sam, the roommate. Katty."

Sam winced, ashamed that it had taken him so long to catch up. "She's pregnant," he breathed, slapping down the computer screen. "She's carrying the demon's baby."

* * *

The corridor was brightly lit but excruciatingly quiet. Katty didn't seem to mind, her footsteps snapping down against the tile, her jaw set in anger. The building was almost completely empty, but for a few straggling professors working late in their offices. Katty knew that her target preferred the dark more than any of the others; after all, the cover of night had been how she and Dr. Mallard had first began arranging their sweaty trysts.

She passed the staircase, moving to the last door before the emergency exit. Her hand hovered over his office door only a moment before she opted not to knock. Katty turned the handle, stepping into the darkened room.

"I'm tired of this," she snapped.

A single, dull, lamp lit the area around the desk. But Dr. Mallard wasn't sitting in his usual seat, instead standing with his back to Katty, his eyes starring at the moon-lit floral outside his window.

"So nice for you to finally show, Katty," he said, his voice distance.

She rolled her eyes. "You promised me a check," she said, brushing back her ponytail with a flick of her wrist. "You said that if I kept the baby, you'd take care of me. I've got to put a deposit on the apartment, Ken. I need the money."

"I'll take care of you," Dr. Mallard assured. His tone was filled with a measured annoyance that lost on the young woman at his doorway. "Come closer," he continued. "Shut the door. I've got something special to show you."

Katty did as he asked. Her feet hesitating only when a strangely metallic scent hit her nose.

Dr. Mallard turned to greet her, a small smile on his face. Light passed threw the window blinds, crossing his body with pale lines. A smudge of red could be see on his chin.

Katty was about to comment when her gaze lowered to his hands. He held against both palms a wide bowl filled to brim with dark, thick liquid. It glistened slightly around the edges, as red as the smudge.

She took a steadying breath. "Is that. . .?"

Dr. Mallard chuckled. "Grade-A karma, sweetheart. But I'm a bit full. Why don't you have a sip?"

Katty stepped back too late. A scream replaced her words of protest just as the blood splashed across her face.

**End notes: Sorry for the shortness of this chapter, but the story is close to wrapping up. I hope you're still enjoying it. Review and tell me what you think. **


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